


Crimson

by jacksqueen16



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Costume Party, F/M, Halloween, Ichabod discovers kinks, Party, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Smut, Wall Sex, costume fetish, smut not flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-24 00:50:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2561966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksqueen16/pseuds/jacksqueen16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Ichabod learns that Abbie looks lovely in an 18th century dress. So lovely that he cannot keep his hands to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimson

**Author's Note:**

> A little Halloween fic for #smutnotflowers. 
> 
> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.

Modern All Hallows Eve decorations left much to be desired.

Ichabod Crane made a mental note to bring the issue up to Lieutenant Mills when she arrived. The good people of the Sleepy Hollow Reenactment and Historical Societies had outdone themselves where 18th century food and clothing were concerned, but had failed to ask Ichabod’s advice in regards to the ornamentation. They had peppered the room with stringy imitation cobwebs, spiders that moved mechanically, and even a model skeleton made of what Lieutenant Mills called “plastic.”

It was ridiculous in the extreme, but he was careful to bite his tongue. He had learned relatively quickly that many people in Sleepy Hollow did not appreciate it when he pointed out historical inaccuracies. _Besides_ , he mused as he watched a woman in a black dress look over the hors d’oeuvres before they were served, _they’ve gone to such work._

He sipped from his glass of wine as his eyes roved over the other guests. In addition to the regular reenactors (easily spotted thanks to their impeccable Colonial era costumes), the ballroom of the Historical Society was full of notable Sleepy Hollow citizens. Some he recognized, others he did not.

Captain Irving waved across the room to Ichabod, who nodded and smiled. Irving turned his attention back to the woman who was without a doubt his “date” for the evening. She smiled up at him, adjusting her precariously styled wig with one hand. Ichabod wondered briefly why he did not feel a pang of jealousy—after all, was it not a normal human reaction to be envious of others who had what one did not? He thought of Katrina, how she had turned away to be with the Horseman for good, how their vows were as dry as the dust on their marriage certificate. He imagined for a moment that she was there with him, but felt nothing. Not longing, nor desire, or even sadness at things long past.

“So serious,” came a voice at his elbow. He turned to Lieutenant Mills, and his jaw nearly dropped.

“I...I was merely...thinking,” he managed to say without stammering too noticeably. He clutched the wineglass and told himself not to down the remains in one swig.

“Don’t think too hard,” Abigail Mills grinned. “This is a party, after all. What have I missed?”

“I…” he tried to formulate a reply, but found that all thoughts fled as he took in Lieutenant Mills’ appearance. Her gown was not only flawless in its authenticity, but stunning. Her already shapely form was curved into an even more accentuated hourglass, her brown shoulders slightly bared, her breasts pushed up. The bright crimson color of the dress made her skin look like the smoothest Spanish chocolate, and he could have sworn her eyes were brighter than usual. “Pardon, Lieutenant Mills, but you…”

Her lips turned down slightly. “Is there something wrong with my dress?” she asked.

Ichabod’s heart began to speed up. _Yes, it is not on my bedroom floor_. “No, quite the contrary. You are staggeringly beautiful.”

Her cheeks flushed a lovely rose color, and she smiled. He could see she was immensely pleased. “That’s very kind of you, Crane. You don’t look half bad yourself.” She smoothed a hand over his chest, patting good-naturedly, before tugging at the sleeve of his black dress coat. “Um, anyway...what’s there to eat?”

Instead of grabbing her hand and holding it against him, Ichabod gestured toward the two tables before them, laden with all manner of food. His sharp eyes remained trained on Lieutenant Mills’ face, the rise and fall of her bosom, the tap tap tap of the black and gold fan she held as she beat it lightly against her fingers in what appeared to be a nervous tick. He inhaled deeply. He may have been asleep for over two hundred years, but he had not forgotten this feeling. With each breath she took, each tap of the fan, he knew with increasing certainty what it was he faced.

That volatile beast, attraction.

Her lips moved, no doubt commenting on the fare provided for the party. He wanted them to move against his own, with the same urgent, sudden, desperate impulse he felt.

Lieutenant Mills’ brown eyes looked up at him. “Crane?”

He shook his head slightly, clearing the metaphorical cobwebs away as best he could. “My apologies. I am afraid my mind was elsewhere.”

Lieutenant Mills chuckled, turning her body so that she stood between him and the rest of the ballroom. “Oh Crane...do you see someone you like?”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You have that look on your face, the one that guys get when they see a pretty girl.” She smirked.

He paused, unsure of whether or not to admit to her his foible in finding her desperately desirable, despite their professional relationship.  

“Oh come on,” Lieutenant Mills stepped closer, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. As she glanced out over the room, her long, full skirts swished against him, and he pictured them pushed up around that tiny waist, stark red against the white of his bedsheets. “Who is she? Maybe I can give you some pointers. Dating is a whole different ballgame now than it was during your time.”

The words spilled out his mouth before he could curtail them. “Courtship may have changed, but I very much doubt that sexual hunger leading to copulation is any different.”

Lieutenant Mills raised one eyebrow, but he couldn’t quite read the minutia in the expression on her face. “Wow. Hoping to get lucky tonight, are we?” she asked.

Get lucky. It was such a drab, lackluster term. He made a mental note to inquire about it further on the internet.

Ichabod drank the rest of the wine before his abrupt courage ran out. He set the glass down on the nearest table, and touched Lieutenant Mills’ hand where it nestled against the inside of his elbow. Her fingers were relaxed, but he could feel the heat of her skin through his coat and shirt. “We indeed, Lieutenant.”

Her eyes widened. “Crane,” she whispered, “you’re not...are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Ichabod leaned down to murmur against her ear. She smelled like flowers and cloves and he wanted to press a kiss against the soft skin there. “I don’t know what has come over me. Forgive me if I am being untoward, Lieutenant, but I feel I must confess—I find you utterly irresistible.”

“I…” she breathed, and he could practically hear the wheels spinning as she tried to make sense of his revelation.

“I know I am uncouth to say it, but please...Lieutenant...will you allow me show you?” his hand tightened over hers as he whispered.

“Ichabod,” she whispered back. “I thought you’d never ask.”

#

It took mere moments for them to escape the ballroom unnoticed. They turned down several dark hallways of the Historical Society before the lively music faded behind them, and the only sounds were their rough breathing and the clack of Lieutenant Mills’ heels against the tiled floor. Ichabod's pulse raced with the mixture of lust and the feeling that they were doing something forbidden.

“Enough,” Lieutenant Mills stopped, pulling Ichabod to a stop beside her. “Are you gonna kiss me or not?”

Ichabod looked down at her in the dim light, cupped her face in his hands, and pressed his lips to hers in reply. He tried to be as cavalier as possible, but her lips were so much softer than he had ever imagined, and when she sighed against him, something fluttered in his chest, in his groin. Her fan clattered to the floor, forgotten, as her hands gripped the front of his coat. He pulled away slightly. “Are you certain of this, Lieutenant?”

“Absolutely,” she said, her breath sweet against his skin. “Now stop being a gentleman.”

His thumbs swept over her cheekbones. “As you wish.”

Their mouths crashed together, a storm so many months in the brewing. Her mouth opened beneath his, and his cock began to stir. As their tongues stroked against each other, he pushed her up against the wall. His hands moved down her neck, over her smooth shoulders, settling momentarily around her waist. She pulled back, only to latch onto his neck, her mouth against his pulse point, her tongue teasing. He gasped and crushed her closer, his nose buried in her fragrant hair.

“Abbie,” he groaned. “Why in heaven’s name did we wait so long?”

Her only reply was a gentle nip with her teeth. He hissed in surprise, and she kissed the place she had marked. Her hands came up to loosen his cravat, push his coat off his shoulders. She was quick, much quicker than he, and she had him half disrobed before he could make sense of it. Seconds after his coat fell to the floor, she pulled his shirt out from where it was tucked into his trousers, her hands running across his abdomen. His muscles clenched at the dual sensation of her smooth fingertips and the slight scrape of her nails against his flesh.

In the dark of the corridor her dress was a more muted red, but no less tempting. He stepped away, just enough to take in the vision one last time before it was disrupted by their activities. “You look like a dream,” he managed to say, his voice surprisingly gruff to his own ears.

"Too many words, Ichabod," Abbie scolded half-heartedly. "Not that I don't appreciate them, but—"

"I know," he whispered, running his fingers over the rich fabric. His hands skimmed the lacings and fastenings, and remembered how difficult a woman's clothes could be. The decision to grasp Abbie's waist, push her skirts up, and wrap her legs around him was a simple one. She gripped his shoulders as their lips met again, their mouths battling now. It was too fast, too urgent, but his cock was throbbing now, begging to escape the confines of his trousers.

"Hold on to me," Ichabod murmured as he moved to undo the fastenings on his breeches without dropping her. One of Abbie's hands eagerly followed his, stroking him through the material before pulling his hardness out. She spit on her hand quickly, stroking him again, and he gasped at the sensation. He had not indulged in touching himself since he had awakened, and her touch felt too good to be true. Her saliva mixed with the first drops of his pre-ejaculate, and his forehead dropped to hers.

"Abbie." The groan reverberated in the air between their mouths, thick with desire.

"Please."

As she continued her torturous movements, he slipped his free hand down to her undergarments. What she wore beneath her gown was thin and flimsy, and if it had been any other moment he might have commented on the inefficiency of twenty-first century drawers. He could feel her heat, and he cupped her sex before pushing the material to the side. She was already dripping wet, and he moaned, one long finger slipping through her slickness to bury itself in her.

"Fuck!" she exclaimed, her walls clenching around his index finger. "Oh my God, Ichabod. More." Her hand moved more roughly against him, and he steeled himself against orgasm.

He inserted another finger, and then a third, working himself into her, wondering how responsive she would be if he flicked just there, and yes she was, she gasped against his mouth, her breath sweet and desperate, and he couldn't go any longer without bursting.

"Wait, wait," he whispered, withdrawing his fingers coated in her wetness to still her hand. "I do not wish to find release that way."

"Then finish what you started," she said plainly, tugging him even closer. She guided him into her, and he was buried in perfection.

He paused for a moment, watching Abbie's face as she adjusted to his girth. The look of initial surprise and slight pain softened into something darker, hungrier, and her arms wrapped around his neck as her hips undulated against his. "For the love of God, move," she said.

He obliged, pulling out nearly to the tip before thrusting in again. Despite the heaviness of her skirts, he slipped his hands around to cup her buttocks, gripping the smooth skin. Better situated now, the rhythm was easy to establish. The pace began evenly enough, and she followed him, thrust for thrust.

Ichabod's eyes moved from watching himself slide in and out of her to her chest. She heaved against him, gasping with satisfaction, and he leaned his head down to lick at the curve of her exposed decolletage. "Next time," he grunted against her skin, wishing he could pull her breasts free from the confines of her bodice, "we will be naked."

"Are you sure?" she groaned as he licked at her flesh again. One of her hands moved up, and his hair fell forward as she pulled the tie loose. She buried her fingers in his wavy locks, tugging just enough, her fingernails rasping against his scalp. "You seem to like me in this dress."

"Your observations are correct," he uttered huskily, pressing an open mouthed kiss against her lips, now flushed and rosy from their earlier roughness. "But I do think that I would very much like to see you without it."

"You've— _argh, yes there, there please_ —"

He had changed the angle slightly so that he could continue kissing her neck, and from the way her fingers curved into his hair, his neck, his arms, he knew that he had found her secret spot. Sweat dripped down his back from the effort, but he couldn't stop now, not now, when they were both so close.

"Fuck, Abbie, yes," he muttered, not even caring what profanities spilled from his mouth any longer. He slipped one hand down again to rub against her clitoris, and seconds later she was clenching against him in euphoria.

He thought, much later, that he would have liked to watch her fall apart, see her face as she climaxed, but the feeling of her muscles clamping down against his cock was too much. With another thrust he was undone, coming deep inside her, shuddering and shaking.

Their breaths eventually calmed, and her legs loosened slightly from around his waist. He knew she wanted to be let down, but he gripped her tighter, closer, for one more kiss, even as he softened inside her and his legs threatened to give out from under him. "Ichabod," she whispered. "You called me Abbie. You never call me Abbie."

His lips curved against hers in a satisfied smile. "I do believe the nature of our relationship has changed this night."


End file.
